


i held your heart in my fingers

by jinhoes



Category: Pentagon (Korea Band)
Genre: EXO Cameos, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, blood descriptions, everyone appears just some appear less, hanahaki fic, hongseok and hyojong are bff goals tbh, hyojong is an idiot, i wrote it in my outline like five times, nct mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 16:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11234823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinhoes/pseuds/jinhoes
Summary: He learned a lot of things that night. He learned that the stranger’s name was Hwitaek, and that he was Jinho’s age, had just had his graduation party the week prior. He learned that he had no college plans at the time, but was working down the street at a nice coffee shop, one Hyojong knew he’d visited several times in the last few months, at least once with Jinho. He wondered idly if he’d seen Hwitaek there- and, again, was reminded that he couldn’t have forgotten Hwitaek’s face.or,Hyojong spills red punch on Hwitaek at Jo Jinho's graduation party, and almost dies in the long run





	i held your heart in my fingers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spicyboyfriend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicyboyfriend/gifts).



> HEY okay this note is entirely for tj so yall will find notes at the end if u wanna read or skip to the bottom idk
> 
> alright, so i wanted to write you something since the end of march, and i have drafts all in my google docs of stuff i started but lost steam for, or stuff i didn't think was right for you, but when we talked abt hanahaki in may,, i just haven't been able to stop thinking abt or writing it so this is for u, tj, ilysm and i rly hope that this fic is something you enjoy and i knOW im gifting it w/o warning and tbh uu probably had suspicions this was happening anyway but anywaY this is your fic 4 u

Hyojong was, without a doubt, in love with Lee Hwitaek. From the moment they had met, roughly a year prior, Hwitaek had been such a constant presence in his life that it was really no wonder. It had only been a matter of time, he told himself as he washed blood from his lips and hands.   
  
They’d met at Jo Jinho’s graduation party. It was a nice event, surpringly crowded for what Hyojong had known for years to be a relatively shy and quiet man. In fact, Hyojong couldn’t really say he knew more than half of the guests, but then again the party wasn’t really about him so that didn’t matter anyway.   
  


It was a pure accident, really. Hyojong had turned to talk to Hongseok, turned too fast, and bumped into a stranger so badly that he managed to spill the poor guy’s red punch all over his red shirt, in the most cliche of ways.   
  
“I’m so fucking sorry,” Hyojong said, still and absolutely horrified. He could see Hongseok out of the corner of his eye, looking somewhere between concerned and humored, but he couldn’t quite afford that emotion yet. “Are you alright?”

 

The stranger was shaking, and Hyojong’s heart leapt, wondering if it was anger or tears, wondering if he’d really messed up. But then, the face lifted up to show laughter, clutching at the chest of his ruined shirt like he’d never heard a better joke. It was a face that was suited for happiness, Hyojong thought far too idly, as he simultaneously worried that he’d somehow sent the guy into hysterics. But the stranger just shook his head, straightening up slowly.   
  
“Yeah, I’m fine. Fuck, I’ll ask Jinho if I can toss this in the washer. I wonder if he has anything big enough for me to wear.”

 

For a few seconds, Hyojong was disoriented by the casual tone, wondering if they’d met before and his memory had failed him, but there was no way that he would forget a face like that. As stupid and greasy as it sounded, he wouldn’t have been able to.   
  
“Hey, you can borrow my sweatshirt,” Hyojong blurted before he could stop himself. Hwitaek paused, hesitating.

 

“Really, I can ask Jinho-”

 

Hyojong was undeterred. “Yeah, but his stuff is small on anyone. If anything, my sweatshirt is probably big on you, and that’s better, right?” Hongseok was definitely laughing now, he could feel the asshole’s eyes burning into the back of his hair. He hoped his ears weren’t too pink.

 

Hwitaek nodded, finally, slow and hesitant. “Alright, if you’re really okay with that.”   
  
“I’ll go find Jinho, you guys go inside,” Hongseok said, finally speaking up. Hwitaek nodded thankfully, and Hyojong wanted to flip him off instead. He kept himself in control.

 

He learned a lot of things that night. He learned that the stranger’s name was Hwitaek, and that he was Jinho’s age, had just had his graduation party the week prior. He learned that he had no college plans at the time, but was working down the street at a nice coffee shop, one Hyojong knew he’d visited several times in the last few months, at least once with Jinho. He wondered idly if he’d seen Hwitaek there- and, again, was reminded that he couldn’t have forgotten Hwitaek’s face.

 

It was a very nice face- slim, tanned, with the bare minimum of acne scars that every teenager seemed unable to avoid as they aged. He had a scattering of freckles under his eyes, ones that Hyojong couldn’t seem to stop his eyes from trailing through while Hwitaek talked. His eyes were nice, too- lively, in a way he only had seen with his youngest of friends, and yet Hwitaek was older than him by two whole years. It was refreshing, to say the least.

 

And that face, paired with his soothing voice, one that had a very specific lilt and niceness to it, made talking to Hwitaek a very pleasant experience. Let alone his laugh, his personality….

 

It was a wonder Hyojong didn’t fall instantly in love.

 

It was especially a wonder, when Hwitaek emerged from the washing room in his sweatshirt, just big enough to give him sweaterpaws and damn it, he’d told himself at that moment,  _ damn it _ this was not the time, it was way too early to think about a near stranger as cute or attractive like that, especially with an action as harmless as borrowing a sweatshirt while his clothing washed.

 

The hormonal, easily affectionated part of his mind hoped that the sweatshirt would smell like Hwitaek when it was handed back.   
  
\---

 

It was a week later that Hwitaek gave his sweatshirt back. Hyojong woke up to the sound of his father’s voice in the living room, too sleep addled to make out the words, but his brain slowly woke up enough to register that there were two voices- his father’s, and a voice he hadn’t heard since the graduation party at Jinho’s. In an isntant he was on his feet, completely forgetting that he was only in a boxer and an old, stained t-shirt that advertised some local diner Hyojong couldn’t remember visiting in his life.   
  
By the time he got to the living room, the door had just closed and he had only a view of Hwitaek’s retreating back down the sidewalk, to a parked car in the street.

 

“What was that?” he questioned, just before noticing the sweatshirt in his father’s arams.

 

“Your friend stopped by to return this,” said his father, handing over the sweatshirt. Hyojong took the sweatshirt instantly, barely reserving himself in his urge to sniff it to test his question, the one that had popped into mind a whole week ago. His father yawned, clearly finding it just as early as Hyojong did, and rubbed at his eyes. “You’ll have to call him and thank him.”

 

Hyojong just nodded, not correcting him and stating that they hadn’t exchanged numbers- even though he really, kinda wished they had.

 

He returned to the room, lifting the sweatshirt to his nose once he was certain he was safe. The smell of Hwitaek was faint, masked with soap, and unsatisfying- but his brain still convinced him to inhale more.   
  
And later that day, when he lifted the sweatshirt to wear out to eat with Shinwon and Wooseok, a paper fluttered onto the carpet of his room. Smiling vaguely at the numbers that stared up at him, he wondered if there really might be something to this.

 

\---

 

He didn’t text Hwitaek that day, or even the next, though he probably should have, if for nothing else than to apologize for not greeting him at the door. He couldn’t be entirely sure about why he didn’t, besides that he wanted to think of conversation topics. A question, maybe, of if or how or where, just maybe, Hwitaek wanted to hang out with him.   
  
So, finally, he brought up his courage to text

 

_ Hyojong _

Hey, thanks for bringing my sweatshirt! Sorry i was asleep (2:24pm)

 

Hwitaek barely took two minutes to respond, instantly flooding Hyojong with guilt.

 

_ Hwitaek _

Were you asleep the last few days too? (2:26pm)

 

Hyojong winced, sheepish at the scolding, but it was counteracted a few minutes later when another text came through.

 

_ Hwitaek _

any way, i wanted to know if you wanted to come stop by my work tomorrow? I can’t promise free coffee, but i feel like i can reasonably promise good coffee. (2:29pm)

 

Hyojong stared at the text message, dumb, and then laughed inwardly as a smile moved across his face. All that worry and being concerned, and it was that easy. Hwitaek definitely knew how to make it easy.

 

He assured Hwitaek that he would, and smiled wider.

 

Hwitaek’s work was definitely the coffee shop that Hyojong had thought that he remembered visiting, and he could have sworn the second booth to the right was the one where Jinho had tipped over his barely touched coffee, making Hongseok and Hyojong instantly burst into laughter at the sight of his horrified face. He fought to keep a grin away at the memory.

 

“Hey!” he turned, instantly catching sight of the older boy he’d met only the weekend prior. Hyojong smiled casually in greeting, stepping up to the counter. “Oh, you brought Hongseok!”

 

Hongseok was trailing Hyojong slowly, eyes mostly on the menu. Hyojong had had a crisis in the middle of the night, in the midst of texting Hwitaek and getting to know him as well as one could in one conversation. He’d known with a certainty that there was no way that he’d be able to go to the coffee shop alone.

 

_ It’s awkward to be alone with someone you just met _ , he insisted to his best friend, and Hongseok had made a noise Hyojong couldn't identify, but was fairly certain was mocking. Before he could defend himself, Hongseok had agreed, and that was a weight lifted off Hyojong’s shoulders.

 

“Yeah, what’s up?” Hongseok said, smiling easily at Hwitaek. Hyojong frowned, certain that the way Hongseok was acting was far too casual for strangers. In fact, he noted that Hwitaek seemed at ease as well. Suspicion heightening, he turned on the both of them.

 

“Do you guys know each other?” he asked. Hongseok laughed and Hyojong elbowed him, wanting the mocking to stop.

 

“You think that I wouldn’t know Hongseok when I know Jinho?” Hwitaek questioned, and the way that he raised his eyebrow made Hyojong feel unmistakably akin to a child. He felt his face flush red.

 

“... Good point.”

 

Hwitaek nodded his head up to the menu. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”

 

“Are you just using me for service?” Hyojong asked, teasing. Hwitaek grinned, not even hesitating.

 

“Was it that obvious?” Before Hyojong could even think to get offended, he shook his head. “I mean, service is nice, epecially if the customer leaves a tip.” He said it so pointedly, but it was definitely more directed to Hongseok than Hyojong, so Hyojong laughed. “But it’s also a relief to see a one or two people that I know while I’m here.”

 

“How long have you been on shift?” Hyojong asked, and Hwitaek didn’t even have to look at the clock.

 

“Almost four hours, which means my break is soon, if you guys want to stick around. But you gotta order something, first.”

 

“Pushy,” accused Hyojong. His eyes glazed over the menu. Honestly, he really wasn’t a coffee fan. Not really. But coffeeshops had a nice atmosphere, and so did Hwitaek, so he was definitely going to order something. “... What do you recommend?” he asked lamely, and Hwitaek grinned in a way that said he’d been waiting for that question.

 

“I’ll have it out for you in a few. Hongseok?”   
  
“Caramel frappe, venti,” Hongseok said instantly, with a grin. Hwitaek made a gagging motion, and Hyojong snorted.

 

“You and your sweet tooth,” he said, and Hongseok shrugged.

 

“Still more in shape than you’ll ever be.”

 

It was, as Hwitaek promised, only a few minutes until their drinks were at the counter, and as Hwitaek handed them over he was removing his apron from his waist and making his way around and into the seating area.

 

“Break time,” he said, as Hyojong eyed his drink with suspicion and Honseok sipped his without a second thought. “Let’s sit down.”

 

“What’s this?” Hyojong asked, curious and eyeing Hwitaek curiously. Hwitaek grinned, broad, sliding into the booth and leaving Hyojong with a decision. In the end, Hongseok just walked straight past him and sat next to Hwitaek, so he supposed that settled that. He took a seat across from them.

 

“Take a sip, and guess,” Hwitaek said. The phrasing made it sound strangely like a challenge, and Hyojong was definitely not one to back down from a challenge, so he didn’t even hesitate before popping the straw in his mouth and sipping, feeling the warmth flood his mouth and then slowly make its way through his body.

 

The taste was bitter, the definite bitterness of coffee, but also wtih a sweetness like a frozen drink. He swore he could taste the caffeine in this thing, and almost coughed on reflex.

 

Hwitaek noticed his expression, face falling minimally. “You didn’t like it?”

 

Hyojong cleared his throat, forceful, definitively coming to the conclusion that Hwitaek’s disappointed face was the worst thing he’d ever seen in his entire fucking life. “It was great!” he pomised, something that was mostly a lie. It was better than the average coffee he’d had, and he was certain his energy would have him bouncing off the walls the rest of the day, but in the end it was still coffee.

 

Hongseok coughed, almost spluttering coffee onto the table in his humor. “Hyojong doesn’t like coffee.”

 

“Why would you order coffee if you don’t like coffee?” Hwitaek deadpanned, and Hyojong wrinkled his nose.

 

“... Technically, I didn’t order anything at all.”

 

“He has a point,” Hongseok commented, and Hwitaek pouted.

 

“I’ll get you hot chocolate the next time.”

 

The insinution that this would be a regular thing, that Hyojong would be resturning to see Hwitaek on shift, warmed him in a way much more skilled than that of the coffee.

 

\---

 

Hyojong returned, and continued returning once every one to two weeks, over the course of the next two months. He returned each time with someone else, usually Hongseok or Jinho, and hung out with Hwitaek during his fifteen minute break. It was a nice sort of company, the casual kind that made the friendship seem natural and easy, and Hyojong didn’t fail to notice just how well Hwitaek and him hit it off. He didn’t think Hwitaek did either, but it wasn't long at all until they were talking like close friends, both in person and through text message. Sometimes, Hwitaek called Hyojong before his shifts, but that was only when the older was especially bored. It was amusing and strangely endearing, even if the calls were short.

 

Almost five months after their first meeting, Hyojong entered the cafe alone for the first time.

 

He knew Hwitaek noticed, even if he didn't acknowledge it. He could tell by the second glance to the door, by the way he took an extra second before speaking. Hyojong wondered if he should have been offended.

 

“Hey, Hyojong,” Hwitaek greeted, his smile blindingly white and turning his eyes into crescents, gorgeously. “I got something to ask you on my break, but that's in about a half an hour.”

 

“Hot chocolate for the wait, then,” Hyojong said, smiling back. The school year felt like it had just resumed, but already the weather and temperatures were dipping away from summer and into fall.

 

Hwitaek nodded, assuring, ringing him up on the register. “Sure, be right up. Get some schoolwork done.”

 

“Yes mom,” Hyojong said, grinning at how Hwitaek didn't look even slightly offended.

 

“I’m on shift, child, stop harassing me,” Hwitaek teased, with just the slightest hint of a smile. Hyojong stuck his tongue out and moved on.

 

His hot chocolate was almost completely gone, lukewarm on his tongue, and his phone down twenty percent by the time Hwitaek got off shift, but he didn't mind the wait at all.

 

“Party,” Hwitaek said without preamble, sliding into the seat across from Hyojong. Hyojong raised an eyebrow.

 

“I’ve never heard someone say hello like  _ that _ before.”

 

Hwitaek rolled his eyes. “Want to go to a party? I’m hosting one this weekend.”

 

“Who’s going?” Hyojong asked, as though he wasn't going to accept. Hwitaek didn't seem to have reach that conclusion yet, however, and he looked almost nervous.

 

“Hongseok, and Jinho, and a lot of their group of friends.”

 

“A lot of their friends are my friends,” Hyojong said. Honestly, he’d forgotten that him and Hwitaek hadn't really properly hung out yet, with other friends. “Who else?”

 

Hwitaek shrugged. “A whole bunch of people. Ten and Johnny, Yixing, Jongdae, Doyoung, Shinwon. There’s gonna be, like, twenty-five or more people there.” Hwitaek frowned. “You're not someone who can't stand big groups of people, right? Because if not, I totally understand-”

 

“No, it's fine.” Hyojong shook his head. “Even if I was like that, I’d just talk to my friends. But I’m really not.”

 

“That’s good to know,” Hwitaek said, relieved. He sipped at his cup of ice water he held in his hand. Hyojong wondered if he ever ate on his shifts. He’d yet to see him. As if the thought alone caught in his throat, Hyojong felt a tickle and coughed loudly.

 

“You alright?” Hwitaek asked, and Hyojong nodded quickly, downing the last of his hot chocolate. He could feel it, warning bells going off in his head, telling him something was wrong, that he had to go. But there was no way he way going to do that when Hwitaek’s break was another ten minutes and he’d waited a half hour to talk to him anyway.

 

He coughed again, tipping his drink and being rewarded with two or three gritty drops of chocolate from the bottom. It did nothing, and he wiped at his watering eyes.

 

“Don’t get sick before my party,” Hwitaek ordered, tone serious, but there was definite concern in his eyes. Hyojong was endeared.

 

“I’ll try my best,” Hyojong said, trying to give a wink and failing, just blinking instead. Hwitaek didn't appear to notice his fuck up, thank god.

 

“Really, you don't look that good,” Hwitaek said, after a few minutes more of talking had passed and it was almost time for Hwitaek to get behind the counter again. The teasing was gone, replaced by a certain amount of sternness and concern. “Go take medicine and rest up, alright?”

 

“I feel fine,” Hyojong protested, pressing his fingers against his throat as if he could feel the blockage. Hwitaek didn't look convinced, and he sighed. “I will. Get back to work.”

 

“You’re not my boss,” Hwitaek scolded, lightly hitting Hyojong’s arm. “But fine. Rest, Hyojong!”

 

“Yeah, I heard you,” Hyojong said, grinning, getting to his feet and walking out the door. His mind swirled with the scent of hot chocolate, coffee, and the barest hint of something that might have been Hwitaek.

 

Hyojong got home, and promptly ran to the toilet to throw up. 

 

As he sat over his toilet, gasping for breath and watching drops of blood drip from his lips, he imagined he could feel the flowers blooming in his lungs, ready to cut his throat and block his breathing.

 

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and closed his eyes.

 

_ Fuck _ .

 

\---

 

It ran in the family.

 

Hyojong knew Hanahaki Disease was particularly strong on his father’s side. His cousin had died from it when she was twenty-three years old, his uncle was a chronic sufferer, and supposedly his great grandfather had dealt with it for ten years before finally getting his great grandmother, and had almost died in the process. It was a recessive trait, something that wasn’t supposed to pop up often.

 

Hyojong’s petals were yellow and bright, vivid in their tone. Yellow daffodils, his mother said, in middle school when he’d thrown them up for the first time. Yellow, stained with red, made impure.

 

Her name was Kim Hyunah. She was beautiful, with happy eyes and a soft voice, but an abrasive personality he thought paired well with his. After that, it had been Jo Jinho, freshman year. He’d been friends with them before, and had remained friends afterwards, all the while never confessing. The feelings had steadily faded each time. Jinho hadn’t triggered the disease in over a year. For Hyunah, not once in high school. He was lucky, his father said, to be able to get over his feelings so easily.

 

Maybe it was because he was young, but honestly, Hyojong had never been worried about any emergence of the disease. His father had advised him on how to handle it, because the life threatening aspect did mean that his infatuations, his childish love, had to be handled more delicately than that of an average person.

 

“If you think they won't react well,” his father told him, sitting down next to his bed one night after a particularly bad attack. Hyojong could still taste blood on his lips, could feel petals stuck in his aching throat. “Say nothing.”

 

At the time, it hadn't made sense to Hyojong. The advice, he’d thought, was many times more dangerous than confessing and hoping for acceptance. But as he grew older and watched his friends and their love lives- he’s understood. Rejection was the easiest way to make love stick, to make someone lie awake wondering what could have been if they were just a little different, a little more perfect.

 

He’d taken his father’s advice.

 

Yet, when he thought about Hwitaek (thought, considered his big smile and cute nose and addicting smell, and felt his throat convulse), there was something different. It was definitely different than how he’d felt with Hyunah and Jinho.

 

He thought himself ridiculous, and closed a few of the bloody petals into a plastic container to talk to his parents about, later. When they were home, when a call or text from him wouldn't ruin their night with worry or concern.

 

His phone was to his ear and ringing before he’d even thought more than a few seconds, and he felt his heart beating hard against his chest.

 

\---

 

“Who is it?” was the first question from Hongseok’s mouth as he entered Hyojong’s house. Hyojong winced, and rolled his eyes.

 

“I can feel the concern dripping off of you.”

 

“I can't help if I don't know who it is, can I?” Hongseok said pointedly. Hyojong leaned back farther on the couch, staring up at the ceiling instead of Hongseok. “Who is it?”

 

Hyojong considered for less than half a second, before shaking his head. “I’m not saying.”

 

Hongseok spluttered, and Hyojong grinned at the sound. “You could die from this, and you're not saying who you have a crush on?”

 

“Stronger than crush,” Hyojong interjected, waving his hand. “Crushes don’t cause Hanahaki Disease.”

 

“You’re saying you're in love with someone,” Hongseok said, slow, “and you won't tell me who? Your own best friend?”

 

“Not now,” Hyojong said. He grimaced, and unscrewed the lid to his water bottle while the nasty taste of petals and blood started to become a bother again.

 

Hongseok was quiet a second. “You told me about Jinho.”

 

Hyojong nodded. “Yeah, I did.” He snorted. “After I threw up on your shoes in the bathroom.”

 

“That was gross,” Hongseok wrinkled his nose, and Hyojong laughed. “Okay, fine then.”

 

It was silent, and Hyojong could feel his headache starting to ebb a few moments before Hongseok spoke up again, hesitant.

 

“... Is it me?”

 

Hyojong tossed a throw pillow in Hongseok’s direction, easily nailing him in the face. “ _ Gross _ . You’re not my type. You’re too tall and loud and you aren't funny.”

 

“Way to make a guy feel good about himself,” Hongseok said dryly. “But, Hyojong- really. If I can do anything to help-”

 

“Not right now,” Hyojong interrupted. He sank farther down onto the couch cushion, feeling the comfort envelop him further. His brain remembered the sound of Hwitaek’s laugh for about half a second, and he had to forcibly swallow whatever was making its way up his throat. “Right now… let’s watch a movie.”

 

“I can do that,” Hongseok agreed, settled down on the couch next to Hyojong. Hyojong wondered if Hongseok was aware of how noticeable his worried glances throughout the movie were.

 

\---

 

For better or worse, Hyojong was determined to go to the party. It was stupid, maybe, but he had Hongseok there if things took a turn for the worse. And besides, in the past, he’d been able to interact with Jinho and Hyunah whilst suffering. Maybe it hadn't been easy, but he'd been able to do it.

 

_ Be careful _ , a small voice in the back of his head pleaded as he straightened his t-shirt, a loose one that prominently displayed his collarbones. He sat the thought to the side- an idea, something he may take into consideration.

 

He knew he was being stupid. In fact, his parents- both of whom now aware that his Hanahaki Disease had made a return- had told him it was best if he took it easy for a few weeks, until he felt ready to begin the process of modifying his own feelings. He didn't know why (he knew exactly why), but that idea didn't appeal in the slightest. He wanted to see Hwitaek. Not just Hwitaek, he wanted to see his friends and talk to people.

 

His phone screen displayed messages from three friends when he checked it, waiting for his ride to pick him up.

 

_ Hongseok-ie _

im gonna be late to the party ill lyk when i get there (5:47pm)

 

_ L Hwitaek ☼ _

Text me when ur on ur way!! (5:36pm)

Theres already people showing up ㅜㅜ I wasn't ready ㅜㅜ (5:49pm)

See u soon! (5:51pm)

 

_ Shinwon-ie _

I’ll be there in ten minutes (5:48pm)

Be ready ㅋㅋㅋㅋ (5:48pm)

 

He looked at the time displayed, seeing he had a few minutes left, and dropped down onto the living room couch. Hongseok being late made him- a  _ little _ uneasy, but not awful. He could survive without Hongseok for a half an hour or however long it took him to arrive. He responded.

 

_ Hyojong _

don't be too late (＞﹏＜) (5:53pm)

please (￣□￣」) (5:53pm)

 

_ Hongseok-ie _

do you kno how annoying those are (5:55pm)

 

_ Hyojong _

(・`ω´・) (5:55pm)

(ง •̀_•́)ง (5:55pm)

 

He smiled a little at Hwitaek’s texts, before catching himself and schooling his expression to reply, as though the other could see him through the phone screen.

 

_ Hyojong _

see you soon!! (5:54pm)

 

To Shinwon, he just rolled his eyes and left him on read. Maybe Shinwon was his ride, but he was also younger than Hyojong, and there was no way Hyojong didn't plan to give him hell for speaking down to him for what had to have been the dozenth time that month.

 

Speak of the devil. There was a loud, piercing blare of a honk outside that made Hyojong wince, saying a silent apology to his neighbors for Shinwon’s impatience. Then he took a deep breath to settle his nerves- ones he hadn't been precisely aware were there until just then. He felt them flutter in his stomach a similar way his lungs sometimes did when he breathed, and settled his hands over his stomach to breathe a few more times. He wasn't sure  _ why _ it was that thinking about talking to Hwitaek made him feel like this- he really didn't think it was the Hanahaki Disease.

 

_ It’s because you like him _ , his brain informed him unhelpfully, and he snorted at his own thoughts. The honk blared again outside, longer and more urgent.

 

“Shut up!” he yelled, fully aware that Shinwon couldn't hear him. He made sure to slam the house door behind him.

 

\---

 

Hwitaek’s house- or, rather, his parent’s house that he was occupying alone whilst they were vacationing- was a nice, neat building with a large yard that promised an even larger backyard. How Hwitaek could afford it- his family had to be well off. It was only one story and a basement, but it was the nicest one story and basement Hyojong had ever seen.

 

He’d barely walked in the door with Shinwon before he was swept away, right in the middle of listening to one of the younger’s stories. He started to protest, but by the time he started getting words out Shinwon was already out of sight.

 

“Welcome to the party, hyung!” Wooseok said sunnily, unaware of his own interruption like the kid he was.

 

“Thanks,” Hyojong said, entering the living room along with Wooseok. In the room were Jinho, Yuto, and Kim Jongdae, an older boy Hyojong had never spoken a word to but apparently knew Jinho quite well, by the relaxed nature of their conversation.

 

Hyojong sat down in front of the coffee table, on the floor.

 

“Where’s Hongseok?” Wooseok asked, perching on the arm of the couch beside Yuto. It took Hyojong half a second to realize the question wasn't directed at him, and at Jinho instead.

 

“He’s stopping by a friend’s house to drop something off. Kim Jiwon?”

 

The name wasn't familiar to Hyojong, but that wasn't surprising. Hongseok had a lot of friends, older and younger.

 

“He told me he’d be late,” Hyojong input, wanting to feel like he was contributing somewhat. Wooseok nodded, satisfied.

 

Yuto was watching Hyojong, in a way the younger likely wasn't aware of but made Hyojong uncomfortable nonetheless. He was debating asking about it directly before Yuto’s brow furrowed, and he frowned.

 

“Hyung, are you okay? You look pale.”

 

Hyojong laughed, brushing it off even though on the inside he was frustrated beyond all hell, because there were other symptoms to Hanahaki Disease beside the flowers and coughing- but to have it affect his physical condition was moving a little fast. “I’m fine, I haven't been outside in a few days, and I didn't sleep well last night.” Both of which were completely true, without any hint of a lie.

 

Yuto seemed to take the explanation at face value, and nodded in acceptance. Hyojong couldn't help but feel a little relieved. Excuses… never got easier, for this stuff. Hyojong didn't particularly  _ like _ to lie. He thought he wasn't very good at it, anyway. So avoiding the questions or giving half-truths were usually his method of answer.

 

There was a question on his tongue, one that almost forced its way out, until the answer appeared in the form of Hwitaek, Shinwon, and an unfamiliar face arriving in the doorway, big smiles on their faces characteristic of those who were deep in the party mood. Hyojong swallowed hard, hoping the growing itch in his lungs would stay put for the moment. Shinwon and the unknown stranger were laughing, the stranger stumbling a little with his own humor. Clearly, someone had already broken out some of the alcohol.

 

Hwitaek was grinning, watching his friends make fools of themselves a few moments longer before entering farther into the living room. He sat himself down across from Hyojong, on the hardwood floor and in front of the coffee table.

 

“Have you guys met these guys?” Hwitaek asked, clearly directing the question to Shinwon and the stranger. The stranger- a rather tall and thin boy, with sharp facial features that made him nothing less than beautiful, even if he was tipsy- barely even glanced around the room before responding.

 

“Yup, I have!” he said, even as his eyes only focused on two people- Hwitaek himself, and Jongdae, where he was still sitting beside Jinho.   
  
“You’ve met Hyojong and Yuto before?” Hwitaek questioned, confused. The stranger blinked at him in complete confusion.

 

“Who?”

 

Jongdae rolled his eyes, an action Hyojong more felt than saw. The older boy had a strong and enjoyable personality, one that drew in anyone in the same room as him. “Tao, this is Yuto and Hyojong, they’re still in high school.”

 

“Nice to meet you guys, then,” Tao corrected himself, with the slightest hint of embarrassment. He seemed willing to say more, but then his phone lit up and he left with Shinwon to go meet someone with a name Hyojong didn’t recognize at the door.

 

“How are you?”

 

Hyojong started, glancing up from the coffee table he’d been staring at for a few minutes. The living room had mostly cleared out, leaving it empty bar him on the floor and Yuto and Wooseok on the couch. Hwitaek had left, apparently, without a word. He wasn’t sure if he was offended or relieved.

 

“Huh?” he asked, realizing the voice belonged to Hongseok, who must have finally shown up. “Oh. I’m fine. Welcome to the party.”

 

“Thanks,” Hongseok responded, with a slight hint of amusement. He stretched out his hand, and Hyojong took it, raising himself to his feet. “You sure?”   
  
“I’m not glass, Hongseok,” Hyojong said, rolling his eyes and pulling his hand away, instantly regretting the bite that his tone held.

 

“I didn’t say that,” Hongseok retorted, turning towards the doorway and walking. Hyojong followed, not seeing much other choice. “You’re sick, and I’m your friend, so I just wanted to know.”

 

“... Sorry,” Hyojong apologized, feeling somewhat guilty. “Can we- not talk about that here?”

 

Hongseok’s eyes lit up, interested. “It’s someone here?”   
  
“I don’t want to talk about that now,” Hyojong restated, more forceful, and Hongseok seemed to get the point better this time around.

 

Hwitaek’s initial estimate at twenty-five guests had been far off. Just glancing around, Hyojong felt certain there must have been at least fifty people packed into this house and backyard. 

 

“This is more packed than I expected,” Hyojong commented, impressed.

 

“Hwitaek knows a lot of people,” Hongseok shrugged, looking around the backyard for a familiar face. “And a lot of people like him. Hey, Hyunggu!”

 

Hyojong knew Hyunggu very well, had known him at least since they were both in primary school, so the presence was entirely welcome and easy.

 

“Hey, how’s high school for you?” Hongseok asked, and Hyunggu smiled, a smile that didn’t have real joy- not a surprise, when the subject in question was school.

 

“It’s been alright. Did you ever have Hyun-ssi? I can’t stand his teaching style…”

 

Hyojong didn’t necessarily mean to trail off in thought, but his worries pounded relentlessly against his skull, seeping through even when he didn’t want them to. He had thoughts of going inside and finding Hwitaek, and spending the whole party with him. This would be an awful idea, he was fully aware. With Hanahaki, it was hard to stand more than a few minutes of time in their presence, esepcially at the beginning. But he couldn’t help but to think of it, to think about Hwitaek’s voice and laugh and sweet smile.

 

Before he knew it, the itch was overpowering, and he barely managed not to gag. An urgent hand flew to his throat.

 

“Hyojong?” Hyunggu asked, cutting off mid sentence with worry in his voice,  Hyojong shook his head, turning to make a break for it . 

 

“Do you want-?” Hongseok started to offer, but Hyojong simply repeated the same motion, pushing past and darting for the house.

 

As he had never been in Hwitaek’s house before that day, it was a miracle that he somehow found the bathroom in time, and an even more monumental miracle that he managed to make it to the toilet before the petals fully forced their way up from his throat.

 

They hurt, they hurt terribly, leaving his throat feeling clogged and sore and heavily scratched. The blood that dripped from his lips was heavier this time, thicker and darker and larger in quantity. He felt his heart skip, watching each drop diffuse into the toilet bowl, watching the water gain a faint pink tinge. This was- worse, worse than he thought it might have ever been, and he’d barely even talked to Hwitaek at this entire party.

 

He was an idiot to come in the first place.

 

Someone knocked on the door- Hongseok, probably, and he ignored him. He sat leaned over the toilet and took steadying breaths, spitting bloodied petals into the basin as he did so. The petals were still small, not yet in full bloom, but definitely larger than the buds they had previously been. He told himself that they weren’t a big deal until they reached full bloom- he could worry more then.

 

He blinked, staring at the back of the toilet in surprise. He always had considered himself a very responsible manager of his disease. He knew what was too far, what was relatively safe and what was dangerous. Honestly, alarm bells had been ringing in his skull since the start of this entire ordeal, deliberately ignored. And next to none of his behavior was safe, or typical, or the correct thing to do. He brushed his hair back from his face, breathing slowly returning to normal, throat convulsing less. There was no doubt in his mind that this situation was spiraling in a way it had yet to ever do.

 

Hwitaek was different, and not in a good way.

 

Hyojong wasted another few minutes in the bathroom. He flushed, watching the petals and blood disappear from sight, making sure they didn’t return when it refilled. He splashed water on his face, swished and spat to remove the taste in his mouth, brushed his hair back, did everything he could to make himself look less sick and more normal. Then, with skin a little paler than normal and hair only slightly more displaced, he twisted the door handle.

 

Hwitaek jumped in surprise, sitting on the ground besides the door. Hyojong, just as startled, froze with his hand tightly gripping the doorknob.

 

“...Oh,” they said, simultaneous.

 

“Sorry,” said Hwitaek, pushing himself to his feet and looking awkward. “I saw you run in there and- sorry, are you alright?”

 

Something undeniable pulled in Hyojong’s chest, forceful and insistent. He ignored it, as much as it was possible to, and tried a smile that came off more like a grimace. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks. Just- sometimes certain smells can make me feel sick, y’know? And one of those happens to be, uh-” his mind scrambled, searching for a reasonable explanation to feed Hwitaek, who looked very much concerned and interested in him in a way that was so  _ distracting _ it made thinking all that much harder. “-alcohol.”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hwitaek apologized, yet again. “Do you- wanna sit down?”

 

“... That sounds nice,” Hyojong admitted, honest. His legs were still a little shaky and his head spinning, though he wasn’t sure if that was really along with the bout of sickness or something else. “Yeah, that’s probably a smart idea,” he added, with a short laugh, and allowed Hwitaek to turn around and lead him further down the hallway.

 

Hwitaek’s room was nice, if cluttered. Not that Hyojong could blame him, considering the amount of clothes and papers he had strewn across his own bedroom, but it still came somewhat as a surprise to him. Given Hwitaek’s personality, he wouldn’t have assumed his room would look messy at all. There was a keyboard in the corner, and a charging laptop sitting on the bed, as well as posters on the walls of various idols- something which surprised Hyojong a bit, but not too much. Hwitaek had mentioned it a few times before, about how fascinating idol life was to him.

 

“You can sit anywhere,” Hwitaek assured, leaning his balance from foot to foot, awkward. Hyojong glanced between the bed, the floor, and the chair besides the keyboard, and decided on the chair after a second of deliberation. “Do you, uh- want coffee or something?” At Hyojong’s pointed look, Hwitaek laughed at his own lapse in memory. “Oh, right. Nevermind.”

 

“Who’s that?” Hyojong asked, pointing up towards to one of the larger posters on the walls, of what appeared to be a Chinese man. Hwitaek glanced at it, and then grinned.

 

“Oh, that’s Wu Yifan. His stage name is Kris. He’s a rapper. You like rap music, right?”

 

Hyojong nodded, confirming. “Yeah, but I’ve been listening to American music more recently.”

 

“That’s cool too,” Hwitaek said, grinning and sitting on the edge of his bed. “Like Kanye West?”

 

“And other artists,” Hyojong agreed, eyes darting to the door. “Are you- uh, are you going to rejoin the party?”

 

Hwitaek blinked, confused, like he’d forgotten where he was, and it made Hyojong want to tease him badly. “The- the party, right. I don’t know, I could use a break too. And I trust them enough not to tear my parent’s house down, probably.”

 

“Probably,” Hyojong repeated, amused. Hwitaek grinned back.

 

“One can hope. Have you ever seen Johnny drunk? Well, anyway. I’ll check in on them later.”

 

“I don’t need you to look after me,” Hyojong said, not meaning for it to sound rude, but at Hwitaek’s offended look he added “... hyung.” on pure reflex.

 

“I know you don’t,” Hwitaek responded, seeming confused. “But you’re my friend, so I wanna make sure you’re alright. And plus, I like talking to you, anyway.”

 

Hyojong smiled without meaning to, and swallowed hard. He could do this. He could sit here and have a conversation with Hwitaek, how he’d been able to do with Hyunah and Jinho in even the toughest phases of the disease. He’d be fine.

 

“You too,” Hyojong admitted, and carried on before the conversation could be allowed to continue in that direction. A question sprang to mind. “Do you play keyboard?”

 

Hwitaek’s eyes flickered to the instrument behind Hyojong, as if just remembering its presence. “Yeah, I can, actually. I’ve been playing piano since I was a kid. Do you play?”

 

Hyojong laughed, finding the question amusing. “I- I can play Mary Had A Little Lamb, on a good day.” Hwitaek nodded and kept staring at him, until Hyojong understood a few seconds later. “You want me to play?”

 

“If you want to, yeah,” Hwitaek replied, clear interest on his face. “Play it for me.”

 

Hyojong didn’t move for a moment, eyeing Hwitaek unsurely. Then, he turned around and stared at the keyboard, the largely unfamiliar black and white keys, and located middle C after a bit of questioning the extent of his knowledge. From then, it was easier- the short tune playing in a manner that wasn’t the most fluid, but was definitely recognizable. At the end, he glanced over his shoulder at Hwitaek and laughed, embarrassed at himself. “You play something.”

 

“Me?” Hwitaek questioned, as thought there was another “you” in the room. When Hyojong snorted and nodded in confirmation, he still hesitated an extra second before moving closer, and staring at the keys. Hyojong stood up and gave his seat for Hwitaek to use, instead standing beside it. Hwitaek clasped his hands, seeming to be considering something, and then sat his fingers down with such a naturalness that there was no doubt he’d been playing for years.

 

The song was familiar, though the name wasn’t coming to Hyojong’s mind, and played clear and strong. Within a few notes there was confidence in Hwitaek’s posture, and Hyojong found himself (unintentionally, unknowingly) watching Hwitaek more than the keyboard. He was mouthing along to the words, breaths of air releasing like the lyrics were just barely being held back, and Hyojong wanted to pull them from Hwitaek’s lips so that they were audible. In the end, that wasn’t necessary- they flowed through in a way that seemed accidental, but mixed with the notes like they were made to be there.

 

Hwitaek had an incredible voice, one that was soft and on key and easy to hear, and Hyojong’s stomach dropped with the realization that he was completely and utterly  _ fucked _ .

 

“I have to go,” he said, breathless, the interruption a complete sin. The song and Hwitaek’s voice stopped abruptly, and he felt guilt rising through his bloodstream.

 

“Are you still feeling sick?” Hwitaek asked, already looking concerned and apologetic, and Hyojong could have hurled right there on his bedroom carpet.

 

“I- yeah, maybe I’m sick, I should go find Hongseok-”

 

“I can take you home,” Hwitaek offered, already standing up like this was what he fully intended to do, and Hyojong felt panic rise through him.

 

“No!” he responded, way too harshly, backing towards the door. Hwitaek blinked, stunned and confused at Hyojong’s behavior and Hyojong couldn’t blame him in the  _ slightest _ , he was being  _ rude _ and  _ strange _ , but every second near Hwitaek was a second he was getting sicker and he had to leave. He grasped the doorknob sloppily from behind his back, and forced it open. “I- I’ll find Hongseok, I’ll call you, I’ll- later!” and with that, he was dashing down the hallway like a terrified child.

 

He didn’t call Hongseok until he was already out the front door, was already standing next to the passenger’s door and catching his breath. He felt guilty again, at leaving Hwitaek like that, at having to call Hongseok away from the party, and yet he knew it was necessary for himself and god  _ damn _ , he wished he wasn’t like this, he wished he could fall in love and deal only with the pain of not being loved back, not this stupid side effect, not this disgusting, life threatening,  _ terrifying _ disease-

 

He brushed his eyes dry, angry at himself for getting worked up over something he’d thought he’d come to terms with years ago, and brought his phone up to his ear.

 

Hongseok was there in less than a minute, coming around the passenger’s side of the car like he planned to do or say something, but Hyojong couldn’t even look at him, certain his eyes were still red, aware that his hands were still shaky. Hongseok stood there a moment, and then walked around the car and unlocked it as he got in and sat in the driver’s seat. Hyojong got in quietly, and closed the car door in the same manner.

 

“Do you-” Hongseok started, after a few minutes of silence on the road had passed, but Hyojong shook his head and stared out of the windshield, and that was that.

 

It wasn’t fair, Hyojong thought to himself again and again. It wasn’t fair. It sucked bad enough to love someone who didn’t love you back. His heart ached everytime Hwitaek was nice to him, everytime he made Hwitaek smile, everytime Hwitaek laughed, because he wished their relationship was different than friendship. It killed him, at the party, to not reach out and hold onto Hwitaek, to not be able to kiss the lyrics out of his mouth. His throat convulsed and he covered his mouth, hoping nothing came free. Luckily, nothing did, and he nodded assurance to Hongseok’s concerned glance. Hongseok was quiet only a few seconds longer.

 

“I’m staying over tonight.” Hyojong, not in the mood to argue, just nodded again.

 

Hyojong’s house was empty, his parents out on some kind of date night at a local club of some sort, so he didn’t expect them home for another few hours. He walked in slowly with Hongseok behind him and made straight for his room without a glance back. His throat and chest were still complaining, making their problems known, but it appeared the initial danger had largely passed. Just in case, he sat the trash can in the corner of his room beside the headboard instead, and dropped down on the mattress with a satisfying bounce. He heard Hongseok moving around the room, slow and delicate, and almost laughed at him.

 

The bed sank on the opposite side, and he knew Hongseok had sat down. Hyojong would be lying if he claimed the presence wasn’t calming. Hongseok’s presence was always nice to have around- his best friend was a very caring person, and a very reasonable one. It begged the question of why he hadn’t told him everything that was going on yet, but- he couldn’t throw that on Hongseok, he couldn’t have him worrying anytime Hwitaek and Hyojong were around each other.

 

Hyojong’s pocket buzzed, probably with a text message, as it had been doing the whole car ride to his house. His heart jumped in his throat (or maybe a whole flower, he was never sure) but instead of checking, he reached in his pocket and shut his phone off. There was… absolutely no way he was capable of dealing with that yet, whoever they were. Hwitaek, probably.

 

“Is it Hyunggu?” Hongseok finally spoke up. The question came as such an amount of confusion to Hyojong that he actually glanced up from his pillow and gave Hongseok a look, and Hongseok raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “You had a flare up while we were talking to him, so I thought-”

 

“No,” Hyojong said, dropping his chin back down on his pillow. “It’s not Hyunggu.”

 

“But it was someone at that party,” Hongseok stated more than asked. Hyojong didn’t respond. “Someone you knew was going to be there?” When Hyojong didn’t respond another time, Hongseok sighed, leaning back against the headboard beside him. “If you knew they were going to be there, why would you go?”

 

Hyojong shrugged, noncommital.

 

“Really,” Hongseok deadpanned, entirely unimpressed. “You- you do know this disease can kill you, right?”

 

“Not that bad yet,” Hyojong mumbled against fabric.

 

“But it will be, eventually,” Hongseok said. “Faster, if you do shit like this.”

 

“I know all of this,” Hyojong said, feeling less comforted and more annoyed, at this point.

 

“You’re not acting like you do.” One second, then another, and then Hongseok went on. “You weren’t this reckless with Jinho.”

 

“He’s different than Jinho,” Hyojong said- not meaning to say what he’d been thinking out loud.

 

“So it’s a guy, then,” Hongseok commented, and Hyojong cursed inwardly. “Alright. Shinwon?”   
  
“Gross,” Hyojong said.

 

“Jinho?”

 

Hyojong glanced at Hongseok out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve been over him for almost two years.”

 

“Just checking,” Hongseok said defensively, glancing down at the sheets. “Maybe the feelings came back.”

 

Hyojong observed Hongseok through squinted eyes, suspicious. He backed down after a quick once over, crossing his arms over the pillow and setting his chin down. “No. Not Jinho.”

 

“Wooseok?”

 

“Please, stop asking,” Hyojong answered, feeling attacked by the questioning. Hongseok looked surprised.

 

“So it is Wooseok?”   
  
Hyojong snorted, shaking his head. “He’s like, five years old. It’s not Wooseok. Can you stop asking?”

 

Hongseok nodded, finally. “Yeah, sorry.” He pulled his knees up to his chest, getting comfortable. “I just-”

 

“I know you just want to help,” Hyojong assured. “But talking about him, or you knowing who it is, won’t help. I promise.”

 

Hongseok’s phone rang almost instantly after Hyojong’s last syllable cut off, and after a short questioning glance for permission to Hyojong, Hongseok answered it.

 

“Hey, sorry to leave so fast, I needed to drive-” Hongseok cut off, and Hyojong instantly identified the muffled voice at the other end as Jinho. “Hwitaek? No, I wasn’t around him much, is he alright?” More silence, longer this time, and Hongseok’s frown of confusion became more pronounced. “Huh. Maybe the party just got too stressful for him. It happens, you know?” More silence, and then a laugh from Hongseok. “Jinho, hyung, you’re his friend too, you can talk to him.” Hyojong motioned to the phone, and Hongseok seemed to gather his meaning fairly quickly by the speed at which he pressed the speaker button.

 

“- know that I’m not good at this bullshit- sorry, not bullshit, his emotions aren’t bullshit, but you know what I mean-”

 

“Hyung,” Hyojong spoke up, effectively cutting Jinho off. “What’s wrong with Hui?”

 

Jinho hesitated, or maybe took a breath, Hyojong couldn’t be sure. “No idea. He disappeared for a few minutes, and when he came back he seemed all out of it. He’s hardly talking to any of us.”

 

“Maybe he’s tired,” Hongseok suggested, providing the perfect cover for Hyojong to process feeling like an absolute piece of shit.

 

“Maybe,” Jinho agreed, sounding unconvinced. “I just didn’t know if you knew what it was about.”

 

“No idea,” Hongseok admitted, and glanced to Hyojong. “Do you know?”

 

Hyojong bit the inside of his cheek, hesitating, and then spoke up. “Jinho, tell Hwitaek I’m sorry, and that I’ll call him tomorrow morning, okay?”

 

He was met with an instant of quiet, from both Hongseok and Jinho, before he could almost hear the air rushing by as Jinho nodded his head. “Okay, I’ll let him know. Hey, Hyojong, are you alright?”

 

“I’m great,” Hyojong replied instantly, putting cheer into his tone as though he were smiling, though his expression was neutral. “Thanks, though. Enjoy the party.”

 

“I will, feel better.” A beat of pause. “Uh, bye Hongseok, have a nice night.”

 

“You too,” Hongseok responded, in an equally awkward and strange tone. “Bye.”

 

“What was that about?” Hyojong asked curiously, almost accusing, and Hongseok shook his head.

 

“Nope. You first. What happened to Hwitaek?”

 

Hyojong winced, dropping his head back down against his pillow. “He heard me puking in the bathroom, so he was trying to cheer me up. But then I had the second episode, and- the way I left him behind was really rude. I need to apologize to him.”

 

Hongseok didn’t look satiated. “That was it?”

 

“That was it,” Hyojong said, which was, in essence, the truth. “What’s with you and Jinho?”   
  
“Nothing,” Hongseok responded, the word entirely too quick. “You just surprised us.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Hyojong said, unimpressed. “How long?”

 

Hongseok feigned confusion. “I mean, only right after you answered the question-”

 

Hyojong rolled his eyes, and smacked Hongseok’s arm. “How long have you guys been together?”

 

Hongseok was quiet, cornered, and then gave a heavy sigh as he answered, “Two months.”

 

“Two months?!” The exclamation was entirely too loud, but Hyojong thought it had a right to be. “And you hid it from me? Your best friend? You asshole!” He hit Hongseok again, and the larger boy cried out in complaint, pushing Hyojong’s hand away from him.

 

“You’re hiding your crush!” Hongseok said defensively, and Hyojong laughed.

 

“That’s completely different, jerk. You’ve been  _ actively dating _ Jinho for three months-”

 

“Two months,” Hongseok interrupted feebly. Hyojong talked straight over him.

 

“- why wouldn’t you tell me? Why are you guys hiding that?”

 

Hongseok worried his lip, procrastinating on his answer. “... I wasn’t sure if you still had feelings for him.” When Hyojong’s mouth dropped open to form a rather large  _ O _ , Hongseok continued in a hurry. “I know that you didn’t love him anymore! But those kinds of feelings are hard to get rid of!”

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Hyojong said flatly. “Jinho is my friend. Maybe,  _ maybe _ , I still like him a  _ tiny _ bit, but I think that’s just- I think that’s just because stronger feelings stay around for longer. Either way, I wasn’t going to go after you for dating- are you serious right now? I’m fighting a flare up of Hanahaki Disease for someone else, and you still think I like Jinho?”

 

“I wanted to make sure,” Hongseok said, voice small. “I don’t know, I thought maybe the feeings had returned- I don’t know.”

 

Hyojong hit Hongseok again, though the force was lesser this time around. “I’m happy for you guys. You’re cute together.”

 

“Thanks,” Hongseok replied, a light laugh behind his tone as he rubbed his bruised arm. “That’s- pretty nice to hear.”

 

“Call him back later and give him a better goodnight,” Hyojong said, tone joking in its scolding nature. Hongseok nodded, sheepish, even as a bright grin lit across his face.

 

“I will, I swear.” Hongseok hesitated, his smile dropping somewhat. “Hey, Hyojong- have you ever considered, that maybe- the person you like so much, could maybe like you back?”

 

Hyojong laughed, sitting up and shaking his head. “I’m going to get a water.”

 

“I’m serious!” Hongseok called, voice trailing Hyojong’s back on it’s way to the kitchen. “You should ask him out!”

 

Hyojong laughed louder, dismissing the idea instantly while he filled a water bottle in the kitchen sink. No way in hell.

 

\---

 

No way in hell, Hyojong thought to himself over and over again, staring at his phone and wondering if the words through the speaker were some joke. He opened and closed his mouth as though something in the shape of a response was going to unexpectedly exit his lips- no such luck. There was a nervous laugh on the other side of the speaker, and before he could truly work on a response, Hwitaek was repeating himself.

 

“I mean, it’s just- you don’t have to, but they said I can bring someone with me, and I think they meant like a girlfriend, but I don’t have one of those, so I figured a friend would be fine-”

 

“I didn’t know your parents weren’t married,” Hyojong finally said, the words stunted without him meaning them to be. A beat, and then Hwitaek laughed, a little freer than the first time.

 

“Yeah, to be honest, I think there were a lot of times where they forgot that too. I mean, they’ve been dating for something like twenty-one years, don’t ask me how they didn’t think to tie the knot before now-”

 

“You sound nervous, are you okay?” Hyojong questioned, sitting back on his bed and furrowing his brow. “Are you worried that they’ll act different when they’re married, or something?”

 

“No,” Hwitaek assured, instantaneous. “Not at all. We just- typically, we don’t talk to non-immediate family, and I know some of them will be there. Which was why I was kinda hoping to have a friend there, just in case anyone I didn’t want to talk to tried to talk to me. But if you can’t, or don’t want to, I could totally talk to Jinho-”

 

“No, it’s fine,” Hyojong answered, just as instantaneous. The alarm bells were back, and he banished them abruptly to the back of his mind. “When is it, again? Two weeks?”

 

“Three,” Hwitaek corrected. “Three weeks. February fourteenth.”

 

“Valentine’s day,” Hyojong translated, amused. Hwitaek laughed again, this time definitely the easiest one.

 

“Yeah, it’s their anniversary. Their twenty-second anniversary.”

 

“I can’t think of anything more romantic,” Hyojong commented, genuine. “Tell them congratulations for me, alright?”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Hwitaek promised. “I’ll… see you then. Or sooner.”

 

“See you then,” Hyojong repeated, smiling, and maintained the smile until the call was dropped. Then, he pulled the wastebasket into his lap and coughed over it, not quite heaves.

 

It was three months later, and the downward spiral of the disease’s intensity was powerful beyond belief. And he had just agreed to go to an event where he’d spend hours in close proximity to Hwitaek, as though that was the right choice to make, as though that choice made even the slightest bit of sense.

 

A single red flower- rather, yellow flower long stained red- managed to push its way top the top of his throat, making his eyes water and triggering his gag reflex involuntarily. He gasped for breath, staring at it, unable to think of anything except for how much of an actual, complete  _ idiot _ he was for this.

 

A tiny voice in the back of his mind pointed out that Hwitaek had essentially asked him to a wedding as his plus one, and the thought only made him more upset, because Hwitaek had said himself that it was just as a friend.

 

Well, he’d rather be Hwitaek’s friend than anything, he supposed, even as the petal stood out starkly in his line of sight. He was… he was really, really in deep with this one, wasn’t he.

 

\---

 

Hyojong liked to think that he’d seen his fair amount of men in white button up t-shirts, in ties, and in dress pants, and yet there was no one coming to mind that looked quite as good in the look as Lee Hwitaek did. Even with his hair gelled back in such a manner that it almost shined Hyojong’s reflection back to him, and with his jittery movements of nerves (I’m not nervous, Hyojong, they’ve basically been married for years, why would I be nervous?), Hyojong still found himself stuttering his greeting at Hwitaek’s front door just before he was ushered straight back outside.

 

“My parents are already at the chapel,” Hwitaek had stated, as they climbed into his car. “We’ll be early, let’s go.”

 

The ride to the chapel was spent largely with Hwitaek’s nerves rubbing off on him, in a way that was more endearing than anything, but Hyojong tried to keep that thought far from his mind. The disease had entered worse stages than it previously had been, over the past four months. He suffered regular dizzy spells and had to keep a box of tissues on hand to conceal his bloody coughs, and had some issues taking deep enough breaths, but these were all symptoms he’d experienced in the past. Maybe going out for hours with the cause of the problem wasn’t the smartest idea, but he trusted in his ability to tell when he was well enough. Apparently, so did his parents, because they hadn’t taken incredibly much convincing to allow him to go. If they were aware that his friend he was going to the wedding with was the carcinogen, maybe it would have been a different story, but they hadn’t been aware, so it was no big deal.

 

The wedding hall was gorgeous, a huge, high ceilinged room with rows similar to pews lining the aisle. Though Hwitaek had stated they’d be there early, the room was already at least half filled.

 

“Do you know all these people?” Hyojong asked Hwitaek, and the older gave the room a cursory glance.

 

“I… don’t think I’ve talked to most of them more than once in my entire life,” he admitted, clearly awkward, and Hyojong ushered them both to a seat in the front row. As they sat, and Hyojong examined the arch, covered in beautiful (strangely familiar) yellow flowers, he heard Hwitaek snort beside him. Lifting an eyebrow, Hyojong turned to his friend, who was grinning widely at him.

 

“What?”

 

“You wore a bow tie,” Hwitaek said, simple, as though this was an explanation in itself. When no more words were offered, Hyojong waved his hand to gesture for more words. “It makes you look like a dork.”

 

“It does not!” Hyojong said, offended, dropping one of his hands over top of the object in question, as though doing so would protect it from Hwitaek’s ridicule. Hwitaek laughed, delighted.

 

“It makes you looked like you’re twelve years old.”

 

“Shut up!” Hyojong complained, feeling himself growing red. “It does not.”

 

Hwitaek opened his mouth to resume teasing, but a man in the row behind tapped his shoulder and entered into small talk with him, (rather rudely, Hyojong thought sullenly) instead. By the awkward tensing of Hwitaek’s shoulders and the tapping of his foot, Hyojong got the impression that Hwitaek enjoyed the interruption about as much as he did.

 

Following that man (who Hwitaek addressed as an uncle, though Hyojong saw no resemblance), there were several other adults who made their way to Hwitaek as though they had been waiting for the opening ever since he’d stepped in the door. A distant cousin, a family friend, a grandparent, a great-aunt, a boss- on and on, congratulating Hwitaek and his parents on the happy day. Hyojong didn’t miss the comments on how _ they should have done this many years ago _ , said with a much different inflection than Hwitaek said it with, nor the way that Hwitaek’s knuckles whitened at them. He longed to take Hwitaek’s hand and smooth out the tension, but the movement alone, he worried, would send him into an attack.

 

The room filled and people settled, and the wedding began with Hyojong and Hwitaek side by side at the front of the room.

 

Hwitaek’s father was a fairly handsome man in his mid-forties, with a receding hairline and smile lines, and he seemed relaxed, as though him and Hwitaek had switched roles (Hwitaek still jittering, to the point where Hyojong nudged at his foot to get him to calm down). Hwitaek’s mother was even more handsome, a woman in her late thirties, who had a face that reminded him of Hwitaek’s and a confidence in her walk that gave Hyojong a sense of awe.

 

The ceremony was sweet, made especially sweet by the comfort with which the couple had with each other, and the calm atmosphere they seemed to exude. During their vows, Hyojong turned to Hwitaek to smile at him, but instead was a little panicked to find that Hwitaek had heavy tear tracks trailing his cheeks, and was making faint sniffling sounds, Hyojong ignored the warning voice in his head and pulled Hwitaek against him, hoping to help him ride out the emotions he must be feeling. Hyojong’s mouth tasted like metal.

 

Sealed with a kiss, Hwitaek’s parents were married after twenty-two years of searching for the right time, and Hyojong brushed only once at his eyes.

 

Hwitaek was clapping and cheering them out the room and into the reception hall the loudest of them, by far, to absolutely no one’s surprise. Even with eyes red and nose running, it was clear who loved them most, and simply watching him made Hyojong smile and cheer all the louder.

 

As the crowd settled and prepared to move into the next room, Hyojong was struck with a bout of dizziness that sent him stumbling into the bench, and lead to a cry of surprise from Hwitaek.

 

“Are you alright?” Hwitaek asked, grasping Hyojong’s arm as though to help him keep his balance. Hyojong was a little grateful for it.

 

“Yeah,” Hyojong promised, coughing twice into the tissue concealed in his hand. “I’m thirsty, I think I just got dizzy a second.”

 

Hwitaek laughed, ensuring that Hyojong was steadied before he released his grip on his arm. “Be careful. You get sick a lot, don’t you? You should drink more water.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hyojong promised, smiling at Hwitaek and nodding to the exit of the hall. “Ready for the reception?”

 

“Can’t wait,” Hwitaek replied, taking Hyojong’s hand, and they were off with a heavy swallow from Hyojong.

 

The reception hall was just a room over from the wedding hall, and it was a wonder they hadn’t smelled all of the food before arriving, because the second they entered all Hyojong could smell was noodles and meat, a smell that normally would have made him salivate (and still kind of did), but he didn’t trust himself to eat at the moment. In fact, the second they were truly inside the large room, he withdrew his hand from Hwitaek’s and nodded across the room.

 

“Tell your parents congratulations, I’m going to head to the bathroom,” he said, and received a semi-distracted nod of acknowledgement in response as his friend left to go speak to his newly wedded parents.

 

The bathroom had two stalls, one of which was occupied, so Hyojong opened the other and locked it behind him to take deep breaths and spit blood onto tissues. There were no petals yet- this, by some insane type of miracle- but he could feel them, itching and scratching their way up his trachea. The sensation alone made him want to gag. Instead, he leaned his back against the door and counted, steadying his breathing.

 

There was, he was realizing, a lot of blood today. 

 

He’d swallowed a lot of it, but of what had come up, he had used the entire packet of tissues he would normally use over the course of three days. There was easily enough blood to be concerned, he slowly realized, as he coughed more and more onto the already soaked tissue in his hand. Enough to declare as an emergency, if he was anywhere else. And yet… this was a huge day for Hwitaek, and he couldn’t abandon him like this. The alarm bells were loud and incessant (when weren’t they). Even so, he pushed them aside. He could go to the hospital in an hour or two, he was certain. The severity of the problem, surely wasn’t enough yet that it required immediate medical attention.

 

He tripped over his own feet as he left the bathroom.

 

He found Hwitaek beside the food table, looking like he was trying not to be spotted.

 

“How are your parents?” Hyojong asked, over the loud, older music playing above their heads. Hwitaek grinned, happiness strong and obvious.

 

“They’re great,” he said. “My dad already spilled food all over himself, so it’s basically like normal, just- happier.” His smile faded as he looked at Hyojong, and something a near a frown crossed his features. “Hey, you look pale, are you alright?”

 

Hyojong nodded, feeling his head thump with his own assurance. “Yeah, I’m fine! Still kind of dizzy, is there water?” Seeing pitchers, he put on a grin. “Right there, cool. I’ll have some of that.”

 

“If you’re sure….” Hwitaek trailed off, seeming unconvinced, but the subject was dropped.

 

Hyojong was grateful for the water washing down the metallic taste in his mouth and the blockage in his throat, and it calmed the dizziness in his mind to the point where he believed that he could actually think normally again. Hwitaek kept being dragged away by relatives, giving Hyojong the slightest bit of repireve, but it wasn’t lost on him how uncomfortable the poor guy looked. So, before it could happen again (an action which required him stepping directly in the path of a young woman and her kids), he took Hwitaek by the arm and led him to the dance floor.

 

“Dance with me,” Hyojong ordered, and Hwitaek grinned wide.

 

Dancing together mostly entailed them tripping over each other (despite them not even touching) and seeing which of them could make the biggest fool of themselves. Hwitaek did a horrendous robotic move that had Hyojong busting his sides, tears streaming out of his eyes, stumbling a little. In fact, even after it had ceased to be funny, he continued to stumble, an act which Hwitaek appeared to take as Hyojong dancing stupidly.

 

Hyojong stopped abruptly only a few minutes later, coughing onto his hand. The blood splatters were thick and dark.

 

Hwitaek must have looked at the same time as Hyojong- though Hyojong wasn’t incredibly sure, as by this point much of his processing ability was gone, because the next moment Hyojong was being pulled out into the hallway, and he though Hwitaek was saying something to him. In fact, he was almost certain he heard the phrase  _ What’s wrong? _ used at least once, and it made him nervous. The hallway was quieter, so quiet he couldn’t hear anything, not even Hwitaek just inches in front of him.

 

“I’m such an idiot,” Hyojong mumbled to himself, and promptly passed out.

 

\---

 

Hyojong’s doctor was smarter than he was, Hyojong thought to himself as he sat back in his hospital bed and listened to him lay out the situation. This wasn’t the first time Hyojong had been in the hospital, nor was it the first time that he was hearing about this proposition- however, it was definitely the first time that he was hearing it offered so gravely, with such intensity.

 

There were exactly three cures to Hanahaki Disease. 

 

The way Hyojong typically relied upon was getting over the feelings. For Jinho and Hyunah, though this process hadn’t necessarily been easy, it had definitely worked. For Hwitaek, this method was very quickly proving itself not an option. The feelings he had for Hwitaek were only intensifying, intensifying the same rate that the flower in his lungs was blooming, and they were deadly.

 

The second way was the happy ending route. One confessed to the person they had feelings for, and the feelings were returned. Following this, the flower of unrequited love would die, and could then be removed safely, whether by throwing it up in a long process, or through surgery.

 

The third way, however, was surgery while the flower was still living and growing. This process was one that, in his younger age, Hyojong had had no idea why anyone would deny. And yet now, he’d probably call it his last resort. Removal of the flower effectively removed the disease, or at least that bout of it, but it also removed all romantic feelings towards the person who had created it.

 

“I’m going to be blunt,” the doctor said, addressing Hyojong point blank, rather than talking to his parents as he previously had been doing. Hyojong sat up straighter to show he was listening, listening even harder now that the tone had taken a turn for the scary. “With the rate of progression your disease is taking, if we don’t operate or see progress in one of the other methods within one month, your chances of surviving are going to drop drastically.” The intensity with which the man was staring at Hyojong sent chills down his spine. “Hyojong, something has to change.”

 

Hyojong nodded, dropping his gaze down to his hospital sheets. “I understand.”

 

“I’m glad you do,” his doctor said, tone slightly less stern. “It’s a nasty disease, I know. But love isn’t worth dying over.”

 

“I know,” Hyojong responded, voice empty. “I understand. Thank you.”

 

Hyojong was in the hospital another two days, two days where no one friend who wasn’t Hongseok was allowed in, as he still had yet to admit to his parents who the object of his affections was (though, he could tell they had a suspicion). Hongseok had barraged him about it the first time he’d visited (the first of five times, within only two and a half days, a dedication that warmed him more than he was willing to admit. By the second time, Hyojong was tired and irritated, and had told him point blank.

 

“It’s Hwitaek,” he said, drinking yet another water to make up for blood loss. “I think I’m in love with Hwitaek, and I think I have been for months, and I think it’s really, actually killing me, Hongseok.”

 

“... Oh,” Hongseok said, in a tone so subdued and quiet it barely sounded like him. He lowered himself into the bedside chair and nodded slowly. “That… that makes a lot of sense, actually, yeah.”

 

Hyojong sighed, leaning back against the pillow and closing his eyes. “It’s like- he’s so funny, and kind, and easy to talk to. And he’s beautiful too, you know? He’s got really nice teeth, it that weird? Nice teeth and eyes and this really cute nose, and super soft hands too, it’s crazy.” He sat upright, talking faster. “He can sing really good, and he plays piano really good, too. He’s smart, and he seriously cares about everyone he meets. He’s so genuine, it drives me insane- oh god.” Hyojong cut off, covering his mouth with his hand, unsusccessful. Hongseok tossed him the wastebin and Hyojong wasted no time forcing the clog in his throat out, a record-breaking three petals in one go. He stared down at them, somewhat impressed. “Huh.”

 

“Don’t do that again,” Hongseok said shakily, and Hyojong turned towards him. He’d never seen Hongseok so pale in his life- or maybe he had, back when he’d first told Hongseok about his Hanahaki Disease. Either way, he winced inwardly.

 

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just been in my head for so long-” he cut off, lifting his hands to his hair and yanking. “It’s really driving me crazy. I love him a lot. A lot. I don’t want to lose those feelings, and I don’t want to get rejected, and I don’t want to get over him.”

 

“Have you considered,” Hongseok said, slowly, as though thinking carefully through every syllable, “that Hwitaek might like you back?” Seeing Hyojong’s blank stare, he nodded. “You haven’t. You should ask him.”

 

“I can’t get rejected like this,” Hyojong pleaded. “I don’t think he knows I have Hanahaki- I just told him it was bad flu, but I think he suspects- what if he only says he likes me because he’s worried I’ll die otherwise?”

 

“The surgery’s an option, then,” Hongseok insisted. Hyojong’s eyes widened, understanding. “Even if it goes bad, you can always go with the surgery. Then the feelings go away, and you guys can just be friends.”

 

Hongseok wasn’t… he definitely wasn’t wrong, Hyojong had to admit. Far from wrong, in fact. Nearing the  _ he-has-a-point-range _ . He bit his lip, setting the wastebin down next to his bedcot. “I’ll... think about it.”

 

Hongseok nodded, seemingly at peace knowing that his idea was in consideration.

 

\---

 

Hyojong thought about it for three weeks. In terms of procrastination, he knew this was probably the worst timing for it, and he knew (it had been made very clear) that both his parents were gunning for the surgery, but willing to leave the whole month to him to decide.

 

And he had, honestly, been thinking about it almost every moment during those three weeks. Whenever he was talking to Hwitaek over the phone, it was always in the forefront of his mind, ever present. Any time Hwitaek asked him to meet up, he always had an excuse ready- he could not, absolutely could  _ not _ meet with Hwitaek before he made up his mind, because he knew that would lead to a rash decision, and that wasn’t at all what was needed here.

 

He thought about it in every conversation he had with Hongseok, whether by himself or at the prompting of Hongseok asking  _ Have you decided, yet? _ and Hyojong having to admit every time that no, he had not decided, he was still emotionally torn and confused on which of the three risks he was most willing to take. Hongseok never pushed him, thank god. He just nodded and carried on the conversation as though nothing more had been said, and that was that. Hyojong was thankful for it, thankful to have some semblance of normalcy there.

 

As week three was drawing to an end, Hyojong found himself staring more and more at Hwitaek’s number in his contacts, working up the courage to call. And then, at last, the third friday since the wedding, he managed to press his finger all the way down on the call button.

 

“Hey, Hwitaek,” Hyojong said, hoping his voice wasn’t shaky over the line, “I need to talk to you. Can we meet up for coffee this weekend?”

 

There was a delay on the other end before Hwitaek responded, tone bright, if unsure. “Yeah, of course! I don’t have a shift tomorrow, want to meet up then?”

 

Hyojong smiled. “Sounds good to me. One?”

 

“One works,” Hwitaek hummed, sounding like he wanted to say more, so Hyojong waited on the line. “Hey, Hyojong… you know I’m here for you, right? Like, we’re friends, and I care about you, and I’m here for you?”

 

Hyojong smiled again, softer this time, allowing himself this luxury. “Yeah,” he promised. “I know that. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“I’ll see you then,” Hyojong agreed, and hung up the call.

 

\---

 

Hyojong showed up at the coffee shop, in his own nervousness, over a half hour before one, and had to accept the fact that this meant he was going to be sitting in a booth alone for that long, or however long it was until Hwitaek would be arriving. The prospect was torturous, making him wring his hands and decide to waste time in line (greeting the cashier, a woman he now recognized) and order a hot chocolate for himself and a cappucino for Hwitaek. It had been of absolutely no surprise to him to discover that Hwitaek was a caffeine addict, months ago,

 

A good amount of time wasted, he sat in his chosen booth- an accident, but he was fairly certain it was the one he, Hongseok, and Hwitaek had sat in months ago, the first time he had come to visit Hwitaek at work. The thought gave him a strange amount of comfort, and he managed to not feel like he was about to have a heart attack quite as immediately as before.

 

Hwitaek arrived five minutes before one, something Hyojong found both a blessing and a curse, as he didn’t want to wait any longer but he certainly would have loved to push it off longer. Even though this was destroying him, even though it was painful, there was a safety in the know, overthe unknown, however stupid or ridiculous that safety was.

 

Hwitaek looked nervous, even as he smiled and sat across from Hyojong.

 

“Hey,” he greeted, breathless. His eyes widened when Hyojong pushed the coffee in his direction, probably now cooled down to the point of drinkability (though, Hyojong was a bit of a baby when it came to burning his mouth). “Oh, thanks, cappucino?”

 

“Gotta get your caffeine dose in somehow,” Hyojong drawled, and Hwitaek laughed as he took a sip. It definitely wasn’t just Hyojong- the atmosphere was awkward and tense, probably at least in part to the fact that this was the first time Hwitaek was actually seeing him since he’d passed out on him at his parent’s wedding. They’d talked over the phone, and Hyojong had apologized profusely over and over again, but being face to face made Hyojong worry if there was some resentment there. Hyojong took a deep breath, and sighed. “Look, Hui, I’m still really sorry for-”

 

“Don’t apologize,” Hwitaek scolded, stern, a tone that effectively made Hyojong close his mouth. “You can’t apologize for me because you got sick. And you got very sick, too, I was way more worried on if you were going to be alright than that I had to leave the reception-”

 

“I’m sorry for that, too,” Hyojong blurted. “For worrying you. I knew I was sick, even when you asked me if I could go, and I should have told you to ask Jinho instead-”

 

“So it wasn’t just the flu,” Hwitaek stated more than asked. Hyojong winced, not wanting to talk about this before his question, but this wasn’t the right time in the conversation to bring it up, and he felt like he was digging himself a bigger hole. “You knew you were sick, and that you would still be sick when we went to the wedding?”

 

Hyojong took a deep breath. “I knew that it was… a really strong possibility, yeah, and I;m sorry for that.”

 

“Then why did you agree to come?” Hwitaek didn’t look mad, or annoyed, whatsoever. He just seemed confused by the situation, and Hyojong didn’t know how to give him an answer without confusing him more. Steeling his nerves and pulling his courage, Hyojong reached out and sat his hand on top of Hwitaek’s. Hwitaek hardly reacted, apparently seeing the action as something casual, and it made Hyojong’s heart and lungs ache.

 

“Hui,” Hyojong said, and the change in his voice got a reaction out of Hwitaek, a tension he could feel in his hand.

 

“You said you had something to tell me,” Hwitaek said, cautious, as though it wasn’t a topic he wanted to breach, just one he knew he should, and Hyojong could agree with that sentiment.

 

“I do.” Hyojong hesitated, looking at their hands, wondering if he should withdraw them. He decided against it, and tightened his grip. “I- Hui.” The words were stuck in his throat, mixed in with petals and blood, fighting their way through as best they could, but still struggling. “Look. I really like you.”

 

“I really like you, too,” Hwitaek said back instantly, lacking even the slightest bit of hesitation. The simple way he said it, with such different meaning than the way Hyojong said it, made the ache turn into a constriction, a crushing force that made breathing hard and thinking difficult.

 

“I know,” he said, and swallowed hard. “But I like you- I like you like that, and in another way, too. I really, really like you, and... I’m sorry.” The apology was an accident, poised like a shield. He couldn’t help it, when he was certain he was about to have his heart broken.

 

He felt the change in understanding at the same time he saw it, with the way the tension in Hwitaek’s hand dropped slack in unison with his jaw. Silence, for one beat, then two, the more, and Hyojong was only aware of the blood roaring in his ears and the slow, but certain, rush of heat to his face. When it became clear Hwitaek wasn’t going to respond, he withdrew his hand and ran it through his hair.

 

“Look- if that makes you uncomfortable, talk to me again in a week, and everything will be fixed, I promise-”

 

“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable,” Hwitaek interrupted. He seemed to still be processing the new information, but there was a sureness in this claim. “I’m just… I haven’t ever thought about you that way.”

 

Hyojong took in a shaky breath, nodding slow. “I- yeah, that’s fine, I didn’t expect you to-”

 

Hwitaek laughed, another interruption. “I’m so surprised only because- I’ve never thought about you that way, but… I don’t know, it makes me really happy, anyway.” Hwitaek was smiling, soft, smiling softly at  _ Hyojong _ and Hyojong was ready to combust from the feelings it was giving him. The smile turned awkward and uncertain as he went on. “I would- hey, Hyojong.” He gestured to the hand Hyojong had tangled in his hair, and when all he received back was a blink of confusion, he laughed and reached across the booth to grab it by the wrist, and then the hand. The grip was tight and strong.

 

“What?” Hyojong asked, even the one word on the brink of being stuttered.

 

“You’re one of my best friends,” Hwitaek said, and the statement gave Hyojong bittersweet emotions. “I like you a lot, and I trust you. So- if you want to, I would really like to go out with you and give this a try. Is that okay?”

 

Hyojong felt like all the breath had been sucked out of his chest, not allowing any sound to escape when he tried to make words of response. In the end, he found himself just smiling and nodding, grinning even wider as Hwitaek smiled back at him. “I- yeah. Yeah, that’s really,  _ really _ okay.”

 

They didn’t leave the coffeeshop for hours afterward.

 

\---

 

Hyojong ran up to Hongseok and threw his arms around his shoulders, both of them laughing and filled with accomplishment and elation. Hongseok was shaking with happiness, and Hyojong was practically jumping. If he was stronger, Hongseok would probably have been being lifted up and down with him.

 

“Congratulations!” Hongseok said to him, amused, and Hyojong was giddy when he pulled back and hit his chest. Hongseok winced, and whined in complaint as he rubbed at his chest. “What the hell was that for?”

 

“Seemed right,” Hyojong admitted, grinning childishly, and ducking a swipe from Hongseok in retaliation. “Congratulations.”

 

It was graduation day, and the ceremony had just ended. Families and friends were milling all around them, some crying and most hugging someone or another. Hyojong had already said his thanks to his family and had left to meet Hongseok and go out with friends, and all around have  a good night of celebration, as though college and adulthood weren’t on the corner and staring them down. 

 

“Thanks,” Hongseok said, rolling his eyes and waving goodbye to his parents while they began to fight their way through the crowd. “Glad to see you happy.”

 

“I’m always happy,” Hyojong scoffed, as though offended, and Hongseok snorted.

 

“I’ll be happier if Jinho has a quick way out of here so that we don’t have to sit in the parking lot for another twenty minutes.”

 

“There’s only one way out of here,” Hyojong pointed out, lifting an eyebrow. “I don’t care how much of a genius you think your boyfriend is, unless he’s willing to break the law, I don’t think we’re getting out fast.”

 

“Do you think he’d break the law for me?” Hongseok asked, appearing entirely considerate. Hyojong made an exaggerated gagging sound.

 

“Are you alright?” There was a hand on his shoulder, turning Hyojong to face the familiar voice. He was met with Hwitaek’s concerned face, an expression he thought he’d seen entirely too much for one lifetime.

 

“He’s allergic to cute couples,” Hongseok stated, and Hwitaek rolled his eyes.

 

“He’s not allergic to us, so it must just be cheesy couples.”

 

Hyojong laughed loudly at Hongseok’s offended look, clasping Hwitaek’s hand tight in his. Before Hongseok could get his retort in, the older of them started walking into the parking lot.

 

“Jinho’s got the car running, and then we’ll be on the road to meet everyone else at his apartment.” Hwitaek smiled at both him and Hongseok. “Congratulations, by the way.”

 

“Thanks, Hui-hyung,” Hongseok said, walking faster and squeezing Hwitaek’s shoulder. “I’ll go ahead and you guys can do… whatever.” Hyojong had to fight back laughter at the speed at which Hongseok started towards Jinho’s car, almost all the way across the parking lot.

 

“They’re disgusting,” Hwitaek stage whispered. Hyojong nodded in agreement, and leaned into Hwitaek.

 

“So gross,” he agreed.

 

It had taken time for the disease to fade, including one other hospital scare, but by the end of the first month Hyojong was almost completely healed, and Hwitaek had been there every step of the way.

 

_ I can’t believe you were killing yourself rather than telling me you liked me, _ Hwitaek had scolded severely when Hyojong had first found the courage to tell him about it, and then had proceeded to do so much research into the disease that he probably could have conversed in depth with Hyojong’s doctor about it. It was… sweet, to say the least.

 

“I’m glad we’re not like that,” Hwitaek hummed, turning his face to kiss Hyojong’s cheek lightly, eyelashes tickling again his temple, and Hyojong grinned wider.

 

“Thank god, could you imagine being that embarrassing?”

 

They both looked at each other and burst into laughter, unable to keep the joke running.

 

“Let’s just hurry to Jinho’s car,” Hwitaek said, picking up the pace, and Hyojong matched him. Hwitaek’s hand was soft and tight in his own, Hongseok was hopelessly in love, and Hyojong thought that maybe this was exactly the way things had been destined from the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> hey! thank you guys for reaching the end, i hope you enjoyed it! i wrote like,, the last 9K of this fic in twenty-four hours so rip if it seems rushed, i hope it doesn't but
> 
>  
> 
> [my listography!](https://listography.com/jinhoes)
> 
>  
> 
> yell at me abt my writing and ptg on my [tumblr](http://jinhoed.tumblr.com/) and my [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/jin_hoes)


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